HHC - Morning Routine
by EnbyPeep
Summary: The average morning routine of one Angeal Hewley.


**Part one of a little side-side-project of mine: the Hewley Hate Counteraction. Long story short, I despise Angeal. This series is my attempt to remedy that, one itty-bitty drabble at a time. Enjoy.**

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Like most soldiers, Angeal wakes with the sun, and quickly at that. He may be in the warmth and safety of his own bed, instead of the mud and grime of a war camp, but that doesn't mean there aren't things to do. He's more of a morning person than most, anyways.

Swinging his legs off the side of his bed, Angeal sits up and stretches. He gets up, barely stifling a yawn, and makes his way over to the window on the other side of the room. He opens the curtains, just the barest hint of lighting creeping into the bedroom. Not that he really needs the light, what with his enhanced eyesight, but it's still nice to feel natural sunlight in the morning. It's still just dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

Nice and early, just how he likes it.

First things first, a quick shower to finish waking him up. Cool water, not warm. Hot showers are nice and all, but they're better for _relaxing _than _waking_. In and out, just under five minutes. Morning showers aren't really for cleaning up, anyways. That's what night showers were for. He rinses his mouth with mouth wash, just in case, for whatever reason, someone decides to visit. He'll finish brushing his teeth _after_ breakfast, just like Mama used to tell him when he was little; There's no point in cleaning what you're about to dirty up again.

Next up, watering his plants. This is the part of the morning that Angeal _really _looks forward too. There really aren't any places for him to keep a garden in the ShinRa building, so he makes do with small, potted plants scattered about his apartment. But that just makes it so much more special - each little life is precious to him, and so he takes his time with each an every one of them. Admittedly, this is probably the part of his morning that takes the longest, but he doesn't mind. There are very few things that make him feel as relaxed as gardening does.

Like cleaning his Buster Sword, which he does as soon as his last plant is all taken care of. His precious, beautiful sword, representing his pride, his dreams, his _honor_. The single most valuable possession he has. Angeal takes his time cleaning and oiling it. Just because he doesn't use it often (_Use brings about wear, tear, and rust.)_ doesn't mean it should be handled any less lovingly and left to rust. When he finishes, he places it reverently back on its stand, and goes to check the time.

The clock read 0700, and Angeal grimaces. Either he woke up later than normal, or he took his sweet time taking care of his things. No matter. Time for breakfast.

He walks to the kitchen, trying to decide on what to make. He has plenty of milk and eggs. . . Pancakes, maybe? That doesn't sound so bad. He even has some fruit he can chop up and add to the mix. Decision made, he sets to gather his ingredients. Belatedly, he wonders just how many he should make. The weekly breakfast he has with the other Firsts isn't scheduled until the weekend, but it wasn't completely unusual for Genesis, or even Zack, to drop by unannounced. So. . . enough for two?

As it turns out, breakfast _was _a solitary affair. Which is fine, because at least Angeal now has leftovers for tonight or tomorrow. Just as well, too, because he knows he has a mission to go on tomorrow, so he probably won't have time to cook. Seems everything worked out.

He takes another glance at the clock, 0743, and rushes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. If there was one downside to this habit of his, it's that running late almost always means either skipping breakfast or not brushing his teeth. He manages in under three minutes, though, as speed is one of the things drilled into a soldier early on in a war. He hurries to put his uniform on, and before the clock struck 0750 he was out the door.

Time for another day of work.


End file.
